Against the Odds
by LadyKayoss
Summary: Separated and presumed dead on a continent without magic, Squall and Rinoa must beat the odds to reunite. Squinoa
1. The Unknown Soldier

Disclaimer:  Final Fantasy VIII is the property of Squaresoft.  

Author's Note:  This story is going to span about six or seven years, if everything turns out how it should.  This chapter is about Squall, the next about Rinoa, and the third will start bringing things together.  The chapters will get longer after that, I think, if anyone shows any interest in this story.

AGAINST THE ODDS

Chapter One

The Unknown Soldier

He was just one of many dark shapes barely discernible in the mist.  His dirty, torn uniform had nothing to distinguish him from the other soldiers in the skirmish.  He was nothing, nobody, just a young man drafted to fight a war he didn't believe in against an enemy he felt no enmity towards because a king he didn't serve had so ordered.  None of his superior officers or fellow troops knew or even cared who he was.  He'd die here and be buried in a grave for unknown soldiers.

_Squall Leonhart.  I am Squall Leonhart!  _It was a mantra that kept him barely sane as bullets whined through the air around him and the ground shook beneath whenever a mine detonated.   _I am not a nameless soldier.  I am the commander of __Balamb__Garden__!  I defeated the Sorceress Ultimecia!  Not that anyone cared.  No one here knew what a Garden was.  No one here had even heard of sorceresses.  He was that half-mad youth found injured nearly a year ago, a young, fit body that could be pressed into service.  _You're eighteen?  Then you can serve His Majesty.  _His protests had fallen on deaf ears._

Hot lead tore through his shoulder pad, and Squall ducked to avoid the gunfire.  The bullet had grazed his skin, but he barely felt the wound.  It was just one more of many.  It was nothing to the ten whip lashes he'd taken to his back for trying to run from the cruel boot camp he'd been forced into.  Only the military skills he'd demonstrated, trained into him since adolescence at Garden, kept him from being put on trial as a deserter.  He was too valuable.

Squall raised his weapon, pointed the muzzle towards where the shots had been fired from and squeezed the trigger.  A scream told him he'd hit his target, but Squall felt no victory.  This wasn't a war for the defense of the people and country.  He was part of the invading army.  These people were innocents protecting their homes and families.  Balamb would never have taken a contract such as this, no matter the price.

No, Squall felt no victory.  Nor did he feel guilt.  Instead he felt an emptiness inside, as though all his emotions were gone.  He'd never been emotional to begin with, but now he truly was as empty as his peers accused.  He had nothing to live for, except the possibility of death.  He envied all the soldiers who had fallen in battle before him.  Why couldn't he seem to find death for himself?

There was a shout, and Squall proceeded towards the voice, that of the lieutenant who led his squad.  He joined the five other ragged troops who were his teammates, only listening with half a mind as they reported that the area was now clear.  The lieutenant informed them that they had a clear path to the town itself and that they and the others had orders to sweep in and take it and hold it.  There were cheers from the others.  Squall did nothing.  They hated him, his squad mates.  He wasn't one of them.  His heart wasn't in the fight.  They knew it, and despised him for it.  He didn't care.

They set off, blending in with the forest around them.  The mist hid what the vegetation did not.  The air was pungent with the scent of the sap oozing from bullet-torn trees, and Squall had to carefully pick his way over limbs and wooden shards from the ruined foliage to keep from making a sound.  Squall paused by one tree, of a species he'd never seen, torn almost to pieces by a grenade blast.  SeeD had always been careful not to harm the environment irreparably.  Damage would occur, of course, but not at this scale.  And these trees couldn't draw magic from the land around them to heal themselves.

Squall continued on, his gun at the ready, his senses alert despite his determination to die in battle.  His finely honed fighting instincts wouldn't rest just because he wanted to commit suicide.  He was aware of every sound around him, from the rustling caused by his less-careful team mates, to the distant gunfire and screams from the town somewhere before him.

There was a sound somewhere to his left, and Squall whirled, trying to track the sound.  He didn't see anything, couldn't really see much in the mist.  Which was why he was unaware of the grenade that had caught in a tree beside him until it went off almost in his face.

*    *    *

It was supposed to have been an exploratory mission.  The ancient maps in Esthar had said that there'd once been a continent off to the east, one they'd never heard of.  Squall, bored by the everyday business of running a Garden, had decided to investigate it to escape the monotony of his life.  Rinoa, naturally, had been at his side, and Zell had gone to pilot the Ragnarok.

Something had gone seriously wrong.  The gauges had started to fluctuate, then gone completely berserk.  Things had gone downhill, and Squall couldn't remember what had happened.  The only part that had been clear to him was Zell's cry of "We're going down!" and Rinoa's scream of fear.

He'd awoken in a hospital, his body bruised and battered, one arm and a couple ribs broken, but otherwise not too badly injured.  When he'd asked the nurse about the others, she'd told him that he'd been the only one they'd found.  

He'd known then, deep down, that they were dead.  The kindly people who had brought him to the hospital would have brought anyone else they'd found as well.  But he refused to believe it at first.  He'd tried to get out of bed, screaming that he had to find them, to find Rinoa!  When they'd told him he was too injured, he'd tried to Cure himself.

Nothing had happened.  No Cure, Cura, or Curaga.  No magic of any kind.  Squall didn't even feel the Guardian Forces within him any longer.  It was as if they'd vanished.  He later learned that there was no magic on the lost continent whatsoever.

He'd lain in the hospital for a month before they decided what to do with him.  He knew they'd decided he was insane, with his ramblings about a sorceress and magic and saving the world.  The threat of Ultimecia hadn't touched them.  They thought he'd taken a blow to the head in whatever accident he'd been in, one that had given him amnesia as well as cursing him with delusions.  There was no other continent, they'd told him.  It had been destroyed centuries before.

They'd asked around, but no town would claim him.  So they'd decided that since he was of age, he could serve in King Andor Kielan's army.  They'd sent him to a boot camp to teach him the art of war.  It had struck him as funny, really; here, they thought eighteen was a good age to begin to learn about fighting, while Garden would rarely accept a student that old.

He fought because they'd forced him to.  And because it was the only familiar thing to him in this strange world.  And because it was a way out.

But life wasn't going to let him go that easily.

*    *    *

Much to his astonishment, he awoke.  Or he thought he did.  The world around him was dark, the sounds muffled.  All Squall felt was pain, a burning across his face and chest.  He tried to lift a hand that felt like a dead weight, eventually lifting it to his face after several tries.  No wonder he couldn't see or hear:  His head was completely bandaged, except for narrow slits cut for his nose and mouth.   His bare chest was the same way.  _The grenade didn't kill me?  _He wanted to scream at the unfairness.  Death had been so close!  All that came out was a low groan.

It attracted the attention of one of the army medics, whose concerned voice held a hint of excitement.  "You're awake?  Good, I was afraid you wouldn't make it.  Just hold on a little longer," the man continued as he carefully checked Squall's bandages.  "The queen herself is coming to visit, and it's said she's got a way with healing."

Squall didn't care.  He wanted to die.  Perhaps if he lay here unmoving for awhile, his body would finally give up.  He hurt too much to be alive.  Even the pain of the Ragnarok's crash hadn't been this bad.  Then again, that pain hadn't been accompanied by disappointment that he hadn't died…

He was only vaguely aware of the hush that came over the medical tent sometime later, he didn't know how long.  It was as if everyone, medics and wounded alike, were holding their breath at some ethereal sight.  The queen?  Likely, given the reverence that seemed to fill the air around him.

He heard one of the medics speaking to her in a hushed voice, leading her around to those most severely wounded.  Squall was vaguely surprised he wasn't first; the casualties must have been bad this time around.

When she came to him, Squall tried to turn his bandaged head away from her, but gentle hands held him.  He picked up only some of what the medic said, "…grenade to… face… blindness… third-degree burns on face… chest…"

There was no response from the healer, this queen, as if she didn't care.  But the touch he felt even through the thick gauze was tender, careful not to hurt him further.  Her hand moved away, and Squall found he missed her touch.  It had been too long since anyone had been gentle with him…  But then he hear the soft _pop_ of a cork, then a thick liquid was dribbled in his mouth.  He spit it out in shock, gasping.  His throat ached… he couldn't swallow… he'd choke!

But then, faintly through the thick bandages, he heard a soft, soothing voice.  A song.  It calmed him, and he began to breathe more easily.  The liquid was again given to him, and this time, carefully, he swallowed.

And started in shock.  _A Potion!  It wasn't possible!  No one on this accursed continent could make the healing draught that could be either drunk or absorbed magically.  He felt a soothing coolness sweep through his body, not healing his wounds completely but making them bearable, survivable.  He'd live, damn it._

As his mind cleared, something else sank in, something he'd been in too much pain to notice before.  The song the woman had been humming to him was familiar.  He'd heard it so many times…  _Eyes on Me…  Who here would know it?_

Realization made him gasp, and he struggled to fight back the impossible hope.  _No, it can't be… she's dead or she would have found me by now…  Rinoa…  _Could it be her?  Dare he hope?  "R…" he tried, but his tongue felt heavy, and he was tired from the rapid healing his body was doing.  "Ri..a..?"

Where was she?  Couldn't she hear him?  Didn't she know it was him?  No, of course not, he told himself.  Not when he was bandaged liked this.  To her, he was just another injured soldier.

And maybe it wasn't her at all.  But he now had hope.  He couldn't die, not until he knew for certain that she was Rinoa.  Desperately, he tried to say her name again.

But it was too late.  She was gone from his side.  And he was tired… so tired…

_I'll find you when I'm well, Rinoa.  We'll be together again.  I promise._

To Be Continued…


	2. A Queen in Chains

Disclaimer:  Final Fantasy VIII is the property of Squaresoft.

Author's Note:  Another short chapter, this one from Rinoa's POV.  They should start getting better after chapter three.  And you'll have to be patient with me; it may take me awhile to update at times.

AGAINST THE ODDS

Chapter Two

A Queen in Chains

With an angry wave of her hands, Rinoa dismissed the servants.  She'd grown up with at least one maid in her home that had been happy to help whenever she was needed, but this army of women whose whole purpose in life was to help Rinoa dress and take care of her was too much for her.  She didn't need three others to change into a nightgown, dammit!

The women ignored her, finishing their rounds of the already immaculate room before finally leaving her.  Alone at last, Rinoa paced the room, her footsteps swallowed by the deep blue carpet.  She didn't think she'd get any sleep that night, not after her trip to the battle lines.  The long rows of wounded soldiers had torn at her, and she'd wanted to weep.  She'd seen death and wounds in the aftermath of battles, but not at this scale.  And the SeeDs had always Cured the wounded, friend or foe.  She'd never smelled the stench of blood and opened bowels and infection before, and it had made her lose her lunch.

But it had been worth it.  More soldiers had survived this fight than any previous, even if that man – her _husband – didn't think she should go anywhere near the wounded._

Her husband.  She gave a derisive snort as raised her hands so the moonlight caught the wedding 'gifts' he had given her so many months before.  They were beautiful, she had to admit, elaborately carved and bedecked with a fortune of gem stones.  The matching bracelets were snug on her wrists, and she was unable to slide them further up her arm or down over her hands.  She flipped her hands, revealing the ring hanging beneath each bracelet.  Or rather, each _manacle.  Beautiful they may have been, but her husband had shown her the chains that went with them, the bindings he wasn't afraid to use on his 'beloved' if she didn't go along with their marriage.  She wasn't his queen; she was his captive.  _

The room suddenly seemed to close in on her, despite its size and opulence, it suddenly seemed to her like the prison it was, and she hurried to the stained glass doors that led out to the balcony.  Air… she needed air!  

Even the night air was stifling.  Heavy with the smells of the city below with its factories, it was nothing like the fresh air she'd breathed on the balcony at Garden.  The city's harsh angles and bright lights were painful to her eyes, and she thought longingly of Balamb Garden's smooth, flowing curves that softened its military atmosphere.  

She leaned over the edge of the railing, looking straight down.  The height was dizzying, and she nearly lost her balance.  She caught herself and took a step back, as she had every other time the possibility of plunging to her death had occurred to her.  _I'm such a coward.  That's all it would take for me to be free…  just a fall, and there'd be no more pain.  They say falling doesn't hurt…  so why can't I do it?  Why can't I kill myself?_

She knew the answer to that:  Hope.   While she knew that Squall was likely to be dead, something within her refused to accept that he wasn't out there, somewhere.  Perhaps waiting for her, as he'd once promised.  So long as the possibility existed, no matter how slim, that Squall might be out there alive somewhere, she had to hang on to life.  

It was hard… so hard to persuade herself to live.  Ever since she'd awoken, Zell's blood soaked into her clothing, her life had been one nightmare after another.  They'd pulled her out of the Ragnarok's wreckage, the faceless men in the unfamiliar uniforms.  She'd begged them to let her go back and search for her beloved, but they had ignored her pleas, silently taking her to a military hospital where she'd been questioned mercilessly about where she was from, and where the ship had come from.  When they wouldn't stop, she'd snapped and used magic to escape.

Or tried to.  The sorcerous energies she'd worked so hard to develop hadn't been there.  The power had been gone, leaving a gaping void.  There'd been nothing there.  Nothing.  She'd been completely at the mercy of these strange people who hadn't believed she knew little about the Ragnarok.  And they hadn't believed that she wasn't even from their continent.  They'd been planning to lock her up for her lack of cooperation

Until Andor came along.  The handsome king had taken to her, attracted to her beauty.  Rinoa had mistrusted him immediately.  But… he'd offered her freedom.  The choice had been either a lifetime of imprisonment, with periodic questioning by the uncaring military, or life with a king.  Only one left her free to search for Squall – or so she'd thought.  Her husband was a crueler captor than any soldier.

Running away wasn't an option.  Even if she could escape the palace with its many guards, where would she go?  She'd search for Squall – the whole continent, if need be – but she had no idea where to begin.  And, if he truly was dead, it would be all for nothing.  And she had no idea how to return home, to Balamb.  While a boat would eventually get her there, she'd need something sturdy, with a crew familiar who knew how to navigate the ocean and would be willing to attempt a voyage into uncharted waters with a passenger being sought by the king…  And what if her escape brought Andor's attention to her home continent?  What if he tried to invade her homeland?  He was hungry for power, and once he had this entire continent under control, he'd have many resources at his disposal.  It was possible he could overwhelm Rinoa's much smaller homeland.  

A soft step was all the warning she had, and she schooled her face into the expressionless mask she wore whenever in the presence of her husband.  She turned to face him, eyes carefully lowered so as not to meet his.  He liked his women submissive.  "My husband," she greeted softly, keeping her tone neutral.  The words were still bitter on her tongue, even after so many months.  Why, oh why, hadn't she chosen to stay in the military prison?

"Beloved," he said, the words as false as his smile.  Andor, she knew, loved nothing but his power.  "I hear you had a difficult time today with the wounded.  I told you that you should not have gone."  His reproving tone made her wince.  She'd learned the price of his disapproval.  He seldom hurt her, but the threat was there, and she knew he would carry it out, without hesitation.

But instead of the expected blow, he put his arms around her.  She held in the shudder, though her skin crawled at the intimacy.  His touch was something to be endured if she wanted to survive to find Squall.  And like it or not, he really was her only chance…  "You must be careful," he said, sliding his hands lower until the caressed her abdomen.  "I don't want any harm to come to my heir.  What if one of those soldiers had gotten violent?  What if I lost you?"

Rinoa sucked in a breath.  _His heir…  The child was barely visible at this stage, but she knew Andor had a point.  If she lost his heir through carelessness, he'd kill her.  While she was nothing more to him than a pretty trophy wife, exotic for being a foreigner, his heir was important to him._

"There were none there well enough to stand, much less hurt me," Rinoa said quietly.  "And many lives were saved.  Don't worry; I wouldn't risk our child."  That was true; much as Rinoa wished the child inside her was Squall's, she'd never endanger the innocent life.  Yet, she wondered what Squall would say if he were here, if he knew what she was doing to find him.  Would he agree with many of the others at Balamb that she was just a Galbadian slut after all?

It wouldn't matter, Rinoa told herself harshly, as long as he was alive to hate her.  She could bear that, couldn't she?

Andor had turned from her and was staring out at his city, as she had been only moments before.  Unlike her, he approved of what he saw.  He loved his technology almost as much as he loved his power; the coveted secret of the Ragnarok and its builders was another reason he kept her around, though Rinoa feigned a partial loss of memory.  He was waiting for her to reveal her homeland's secrets.  He'd never get them from her, she vowed.  

"Yes," Andor said after a moment.  "Lives were indeed saved by your miraculous medicines.  If only you remembered how to make more marvels like it."  Rinoa stayed silent, regretting her decision to reveal how to make a simple Potion to these people, though it had healed many people who may have otherwise died.  But it was worth it, Rinoa told herself, even if it did lead Andor to suspect she knew more than she was revealing.    "In fact," Andor went on, "I'd like to present you to the common soldiers as their savior, to show them what they're fighting for.  And," for a moment, there was actual pride in his voice for something that had nothing to do with his power, "I want to announce that I'm to have an heir."

It was nothing more than a propaganda trick, Rinoa knew.  By showing off his pregnant queen, whose skills had saved so many, the soldiers would be reminded of their sense of duty not just to the king, but to their queen as well.  It bothered her that more people would fight for her than for Andor.  It was worse that Andor _knew _it and would use it to his advantage.  

But there was nothing she could say in protest.  "Whatever you wish, my husband," Rinoa said.  She stared out over the city beside the king, wishing she could be with the one who had never treated her as an object, the one who she'd loved so deeply and couldn't, _couldn't,_ be dead.

To Be Continued…


	3. Bring Me To Life

Disclaimer:  All characters from Final Fantasy VIII belong to Squaresoft.  No profit is being made from their use.

Author's Note:  Sometimes, I have a strange way of thinking up stories.  Sometimes, a song will catch my attention, and I'll get little… flashes, I guess you could call them, of something that would make an interesting story.  It's kinda like my inspiration comes in the form of a music video.  Well, 'Against the Odds' came to me one night while lying in bed, and they played Evanescence's 'Bring Me To Life' on the radio, and for some reason, this story is what popped in my head.  Most of the scenes in this chapter came into being that night, and the next morning, at work, I came up with the basic plot.  And that's the backstory to this fic – and the explanation of why this chapter is named after the song.

By the way, don't expect any more updates to come quickly; I'm in the process of moving, and I've been too busy packing to get much work done on any of my stories.  We're all suffering, here.

AGAINST THE ODDS

Chapter Three

Bring Me To Life

"Keep your eyes closed," a gentle voice warned Squall.  He obeyed as he felt the last of the bandages pulled away from his face but, despite the precaution, the light that shone through his eyelids nearly blinded him after a week spent in darkness.  He gasped at the unexpected pain, but it was a relief, as well.  The medics had been concerned Squall had lost his vision completely, despite the Potion.

Despite _her._  The light of hope in the darkness where he'd found himself.

"All right, now open your eyes."  Squall again obeyed, then shut his eyes with a groan.  "What's wrong?" the medic asked, concerned.

"My vision…" Squall couldn't quite explain.

"Open your left eye and tell me what you see."

Squall cracked one eye.  "My vision's clear."   Then, anticipating the woman's next command, he shut his left eye and opened his right.  "But out of this eye, it's all black and grey, like shadows."  Squall explored the side of his face, feeling the scar tissue that almost obscured the one he'd received from Seifer a lifetime ago.

"Does it affect your vision badly?" the medic asked.  At Squall's nod, she said, "You'll have to wear an eye patch then, or spend the rest of your life with one eye closed."  Her tone was faintly teasing, and Squall spared an amused thought at the strain that would cause him.  He was unfazed by the prospect of wearing an eye patch; he'd spent a week fearing he'd lose his vision entirely and, while his depth perception was shot, one eye was better than none.  "What about the rest of my wounds?"  His shoulder was still bound and his right arm was in a sling to keep it stable.

"Still healing.  You were lucky; you only caught the edge of the grenade's blast.  You've got some second degree burns on your shoulder, and you'll end up with some scarring, but it should heal well enough, thanks to the Potion."

_Potion…  so they _are_ using our name for it.  Squall suppressed the surge of hope at the thought.  To know it by that name, they'd have to had learned it from someone from his homeland.  But that didn't mean it was Rinoa… Ships were lost at sea all the time, and a survivor could have found their way here. _

"You won't be able to go on duty for several weeks yet," the medic was saying.  "But you should be well enough to attend the queen's presentation in two days."  At this, the medic sounded irritated.  "It's mandatory to attend, and I've had to rush some patients care so they'd be well enough to go."

"Presentation?"  Squall repeated. He'd shut both eyes to ease the strain, but they snapped open again at the medic's announcement.  "Of the queen?"

"Yes," the medic said, nodding vigorously.  "Too few people have seen her, yet she's supposed to have done wonders for the King's army.  His majesty the king is taking her around to all the cities his army has liberated.  We're going to be the first to see her!"

Squall shut his eyes again in thought.  He'd get to see the queen… actually _see_ her.  What if it was Rinoa?  What would he do if it was?  She was married to another man, and she was a _queen!_ Here, she wouldn't be feared for being a sorceress.  Here, she could be loved for who she was, and for what her caring nature could do for the people.  

But, it would be enough to know she was alive.  Or so he tried to tell himself.

Squall's face showed no outward sign of his hopes and fears.  "I'll have an eye patch for you by tomorrow, I expect.  But for now, Private, I want you to lay back down and get some rest.  You won't be able to manage too much more for awhile."

He hated being confined to a bed, but his body had taken quite a beating, and hadn't received the healing that it truly needed.  He had no choice but to listen to the woman and lay back on the small cot provided for him.  _She sounds far too much like Dr. Kadowaki, he thought with a wave of homesickness.  It was comforting to know doctors were the same the world over.  Squall listened for a moment to the sound of the medic moving on to the patient on the other side of the divider to Squall's left, then sighed and tried to settle as comfortably as his wounded form allowed._

In two days time, he'd know if the queen was who he hoped she was, _feared she was.  He wasn't sure if finding out Rinoa was alive and well would make him feel better – or shatter his world into pieces._

*    *    *

Rinoa watched in the mirror as the torture commenced.  The women hired by Andor were good at their job, Rinoa had to admit, but sitting through hours of being made up like a doll was agony… especially when one was suffering from morning sickness.  She fought the nausea as one of the women clipped back her dark hair to reveal the thin white scar along her hairline that extended back to her ear.

Andor hated that scar, and insisted she cover it in public.  To Rinoa, however, it was a blessing:  the head wound was the only reason Andor believed her lies about her memory being partially lost.  She sighed, ignoring the disapproving look from the second woman doing her face makeup as the movement contorted her face and ruined the woman's laborious application.  The woman muttered under her breath, exasperated words one would never say in the presence of a _true queen._

"Really, my Queen," the woman finally snapped as Rinoa fidgeted under her touch.  "If you would keep still, this would go faster."

_My Queen…_  Despite the woman's use of the honorific, Rinoa could hear the scorn in her voice.  _Some queen I make.  I'm to be shown off in a few hours like a prize pig.  Rinoa hid the scowl that threatened, knowing it would only make her maids angrier.  And the last time she'd upset them, they'd been less careful of her feelings, pinning her hair back far too tightly, and nearly jabbing her in the eye with the eyeliner.  It occurred to Rinoa that these women would make very effective assassins…  _Death by cotton swabs…  What a way to go!_  The thought made Rinoa smile, until the maids frowned again._

Under their careful ministrations, her face was transformed, hiding the pallor from her nausea and covering the scar.  Her hair was swept into a configuration Rinoa wouldn't have suspected was physically possible, and then the maids pulled away in satisfaction.

Now for the dress…  Rinoa allowed herself to be led from the bathroom back to her bedroom, where an elegant dress in shades of gold and bronze that reminded her of autumn leaves lay on the bed.  Rinoa eyed it critically for a moment, then relaxed.  Nothing too tight, nor too revealing.  Her figure was only slightly altered by her unborn child, but the last time she'd tried to squeeze into a tight gown, she'd vomited.  All over one of the maids.  Rinoa suppressed a grin at the memory of the scandalized look on the woman's face.  Andor had actually laughed at the incident, and since then, all her clothing had been comfortable, though still stylish.

She didn't put up a fuss as the maids stripped her of her robe and then carefully dressed her, though the feel of their hands on her body still made her uncomfortable.  She hated not being allowed to dress herself.  But it was what Andor insisted on, and Rinoa wanted to minimize confrontation with him as much as possible.

"Your Majesty, the king insists that you remove this necklace," one of her maids said, her hands going to Rinoa's throat.  "He has selected a beautiful piece for you to wear."

For the first time, Rinoa reacted.  "No!" she said sharply, her hand going to the thin silver chain that held the two rings that meant so much to her.  "I won't take it off."

"Please," the woman pleaded, as the other held up a velvet case containing a truly magnificent necklace of rubies worked into a gold design.  "This one is far more suited-"

Rinoa didn't think; her hand lashed out, catching the first woman across the cheek.  The maid backed away, stunned, and her companion set the box on the nightstand and went to the other's side.  "I… I'm sorry…" Rinoa stuttered, surprised at her own reaction.  "This is very dear to me," she explained, struggling to justify her actions.  The two women kept silent, their gazes downcast, and they moved away from her to tidy up the already spotless room.

Finally, one looked up and, without meeting Rinoa's eyes, muttered, "It's time for you to go, my Queen."

Still feeling ashamed of her actions, Rinoa left her maids to meet Andor at the foot of the stairs.

*    *    *

He could walk unaided, but he had to take it slowly, so as not to jostle his healing shoulder.  Squall walked stiffly, following the other patients who had been deemed well enough to attend the presentation the king was putting on.

Using only one eye was taking some getting used to.  The bandages he was still using until he was fully healed felt uncomfortable on his face and, while he didn't need to strain himself by keeping the eye shut, the change in depth perception left him feeling dizzy.  This would take some getting used to.  _If only it was enough to get me out of this stupid war!_  But it would only be a matter of weeks before he was off invading some other innocent town, moving in on another governor's territory in King Kielan's attempt to turn the rule of this continent into a monarchy under his power.  SeeD had been formed to fight against such actions!  It frustrated him that a man with less power than a sorceress could succeed where Ultimecia could not.

Squall kept his face expressionless as the group was guided towards what had served as a theater for the town's entertainment.  It was small, but the presentation wasn't meant for the king's entire army scattered across the continent, only those who had 'victoriously' conquered this town.  Squall thought he was going to be ill.  But he followed unprotestingly, taking a seat in the second row with the other wounded.

It seemed to take forever for the assorted soldiers to arrive.  Men and women of all ranks and ages took their seats in an orderly fashion, and waited with the silence attentiveness only the military-trained seemed to manage.  Garden suddenly seemed like an undisciplined mob of teenagers; Squall couldn't remember any big meetings without Selphie's cheerfulness or Zell's rambunctiousness.  Squall winced inwardly at the thought – Zell wouldn't complain about his empty stomach during a strategy meeting ever again.

At last there was a stir on the stage, and Squall dragged himself out of the stupor he'd lapsed in to.  The king and queen must have arrived in their helicopter, if the sudden increase of guards around the stage was any indication.  After another ten minutes, King Andor Kielan himself stepped onto the stage.

Squall shut out the speech, knowing it was only another spiel designed to boost morale.  He had to admit, though, that the king was a charismatic speaker; his words were greeted with enthusiastic hollering from the soldiers around him.  

But Squall had heard such speeches before; had even tried to give them himself.  He paid no attention to the king.  His attention was for the still-absent queen alone.  _She can't be Rinoa, Squall tried to convince himself, to still his jittering nerves__.  She's just a woman of this world.  She's nothing to me.  Nothing._

*    *    *

Rinoa listened to Andor from her place behind the curtains, marveling at the transformation that overcame him when he was in public.  Why, oh why, couldn't the man she married be the same as the man speaking out to his army right now?

Nervously, she wiped an imaginary speck of dust from a fold of her dress, and the armed guards standing around her frowned at the distracting movement.  She was in the midst of an enemy town that had been subdued, not annihilated.  Assassins could lurk around every corner, and the guards seemed to think the only way she would stay alive was to be completely still.

As if she'd be safer on the stage…  She wished she'd never agreed to Andor's proposal, never entered this world of politics and conquest.  Sorceresses seemed a much milder foe in comparison.

"And now," Andor said on the stage, holding his arm in her direction, "I'd like you to meet the reason so many of you are alive today, my wife, who has shared with our medics the secrets of the marvelous Potions that have healed so many of your wounds.  I have kept her hidden away for so long to keep her safe from my enemies, but with every conquest, you make this world safer for my queen…  and our unborn heir.  Without further delay, I would like to at last present to you...  Her Majesty, the Queen Rinoa Kielan."

*    *    *

Squall had half fallen asleep as the king continued on.  A detached part of him was listening, and he couldn't help but think the king's speeches were more like those of a president than of a man born to royalty.  _Though Laguna could never speak this eloquently, even with the best speech writers in Esthar to help him out.  He supposed it was an apt comparison; until Kielan had come to power, the rulers of each country had been elected presidents.  And that, he supposed, was why he called himself King Kielan, referring to himself by his last name like a president would, rather than King Andor, as the kings of the past would have done._

Then Squall was startled out of his musings when the king began to speak of his wife.  And then he said her name…  And then she came on stage…

His whole body began to tremble.  _It's not her… My vision is messed up, I'm not seeing her correctly… It can't be Rinoa!  He saw long black hair, highlighted with brown streaks, swept back.  _It's an uncommon coloration, but not one-of-a-kind! _he scolded himself as emotions he'd thought dead began to stir within him.__  He saw brown eyes, wide and dark, set in a beautifully sculpted face.  _She's gorgeous!  She looks more mature… more regal…  Can it… can it really be my Rinoa?  _Did he dare believe it?  No!  It was just a coincidence!  There must be many women who look like her!_

Then she spoke in a musical, lilting voice edged with a hint of sadness.  The voice that had sung as she healed him after the battle.  The voice that had promised to love him, when everyone else was too wary to get close to him.  _It is __her!  Without knowing quite what he was doing, Squall leapt to his feet and, giving voice to emotions he'd thought long lost, screamed, "Rinoa!"_

*    *    *

Rinoa didn't dare react when she walked to her husband's side and he placed one arm protectively over her shoulder.  She saw him glance her way, saw his face darken when he saw she still wore her necklace.  His lips tightened almost imperceptibly, and Rinoa's body tensed.  She knew that look…  But he wouldn't dare hit her here, not in front of his army.  She wasn't looking forward to the trip back to his palace, however.

Hiding her fear of his wrath, Rinoa stepped forward as rehearsed, and launched into the speech she'd memorized earlier, congratulating the army on their great victory  (over a small, nearly defenseless town) and telling them all how pleased she was with them (a lie; she was sickened) but she didn't let her feelings show in her voice.  For once, her father's high station in Galbadia and her responsibility to be a proper daughter was paying off.

She was certain nobody in the office sensed that how much she hated herself for all of this.  Not one of them knew how much she wished she were dead.  If only one of them _was _an assassin and would end this now…

When someone screamed her name, she thought for one terrified/exalted moment that her prayers had been answered.  Rinoa watched in astonishment as one of the injured soldiers in the second row, standing unsteadily on his feet, pushed his way to the aisle and came towards her.

For an instant, no one reacted.  Even her bodyguards, still concealed behind the curtains, seemed to be reacting in slow motion as the invalid came towards her, his hands uplifted as if to touch her.  Her breath caught in her throat as the man came closer, and she suddenly realized she didn't want to die after all.  She began to back away…

*    *    *

She was running from him!  Of course she would; with his bandaged face, she probably didn't even recognize him.  She probably thought he was dead.  But he wasn't; he felt more alive now than he had since the crash.  She was here, she was alive!  "Rinoa!  Wait!" he cried desperately.  Calling upon a reserve of strength he didn't know he had, he leapt onto the stage, not even noticing the uniformed men heading towards him with weapons raised.  "It's me!"  

Rinoa slowed, turning her wide brown eyes towards him.  Their gazes met, and the world seemed to fade away until it was just the two of them.  "S-Squall?" Rinoa whispered.

He was so close to her…  He could almost reach out to touch her…  Suddenly, a heavy bulk slammed into him as one of the bodyguards tried to knock him down, but Squall managed to keep his feet, and he continued to reach out to Rinoa.  His hand brushed her face…  "Save me," he thought he heard her say softly, but he couldn't be sure.

A second bodyguard grabbed his injured shoulder, and Squall cried out in pain.  He was pulled back, and his left hand was jerked down, snagging in the chain of Rinoa's necklace.  It broke free from her neck at the pressure and dangled from the fingertips.  "No!" he heard her cry as the bodyguard grappling with him finally succeeded in knocking him to the floor, and  his head hit with a crack that sent him spinning into blackness.

*    *    *

"Are you all right?" Andor asked, sounding concerned for the first time since she'd known him.  "He didn't hurt you, did he?"

Rinoa blinked, blearily looking around, wondering where she was.  She didn't remember leaving the stage, didn't remember anything except for that one brief instant when her world had come alive again, when Squall had been there, right before her!  He'd come so close…

"What happened?" Rinoa asked.

"You were attacked," Andor said, misunderstanding the question.  She'd wanted to know what had happened to Squall…  "We're looking in to who's responsible.  Don't worry…  I won't risk you at any more presentations," the king said, sounding genuinely distressed.   _Of course; it was his _heir _at stake, after all…  _

"But what about S – the man?" Rinoa asked as the fog slowly lifted from her mind.

"Him?  Don't worry."  Andor chuckled, an evil sound that made Rinoa shudder.  "You'll never see him again.  He'll be executed by dawn."

To Be Continued…


	4. For Love of a Woman

Disclaimer:  All FFVIII characters belong to Squaresoft.  Andor and Lysander, on the other hand, are mine.  I don't really _want Andor, to be honest…  But I am fond of Lysander._

Author's Note:  Argh…  I'm all packed and moved, but now I have only the most limited computer access due to the fact that I don't yet have internet access in my apartment.  Oh, well.

AGAINST THE ODDS

Chapter Four

For Love of a Woman

It seemed prison cells were the same the world over.  Squall stared at the blank wall opposite him as he waited for his vision to clear as he shook off the effects of the blow to his head.  Hyne, but he hurt.  And this time, he doubted he'd get a Potion for his troubles.

He rubbed his face, feeling the rough edges of the bandages under his fingers.  He wondered how long they were planning to keep him here.  Maybe until he rotted.  Logically, he knew they wouldn't forget about him; this seemingly endless wait was part of an intimidation technique.  Soon, he'd be taken from the cell to be questioned, and Squall didn't know what he could tell them.  The truth?  That he loved the queen?  That she'd been his before they'd ended up here?  Somehow, he doubted that would help prove his innocence.

A sharp, stabbing pain made his vision seem to strobe with different colors, and with a groan, Squall fell back on his bed, wincing as he jarred his wounded shoulder.  The bodyguards hadn't been gentle with his wounds.  Maybe he'd die from the pain; that would solve everyone's problems, wouldn't it?  Squall wouldn't have to face an interrogation and probably execution, and Rinoa… Rinoa would be free to be with her husband and live happily ever after in their fairy castle as king and queen…

Right?

Wasn't that what Rinoa wanted?  What she deserved?  Did she really need someone as cold as he was? A man who couldn't express himself?  When was the last time, before that terrible crash, he'd said he loved her?  He remembered the passion in King Kielan's speech, when he'd spoken of Rinoa.  Wouldn't she rather have someone like that?

Squall covered his face with his hands, considering what he'd gotten himself into.  By jumping on to the stage, he could have ruined Rinoa's marriage.  Perhaps she'd feel obligated to end her relationship with the king to come back to Squall, only because of their past relationship.  Maybe his supposed death had released her.

But then his pain-consumed mind flashed upon those brief seconds before the bodyguards had taken him.  Her eyes had seemed so sorrowful, until she'd recognized him, and he thought he saw hope flare to life in their depths.  And her words, so soft Squall wasn't sure he was meant to hear:  _Save me…_

The sound of the key turning in his lock seemed loud after the silence, and Squall's eye opened.  A man wearing the uniform of a lieutenant, flanked by two armed corporals, entered and gestured for Squall to get to his feet.  With a wary glance at the weapons the soldiers carried, Squall staggered to his feet with no argument.

_Here we go…_

*    *    *

"Are you all right?" Andor said, for perhaps the hundredth time.  Rinoa ignored him, a slight her husband didn't react to.  It only later occurred to her that he must have been genuinely concerned for her, but for the moment, all Rinoa could think about was Squall.

He was alive…  He was _alive!  Somehow, he'd escaped the wreck of the Ragnarok and found his way into Andor's army.  To his death…  "Where is he?" she asked desperately._

Andor misinterpreted Rinoa's first words in nearly two hours.  "He's gone," he told her, his voice soothing.  "Don't worry; he won't harm you again," Andor said fiercely.

Rinoa couldn't respond; what could she say?  Please don't kill him because I _love _him?  She couldn't think of a quicker way to ensure Squall's death.  Andor wouldn't be above removing a rival.  He'd done it on the way to the throne, and RInoa had no doubt he'd dispose of Squall in the same way.

"He didn't mean it," Rinoa whispered, then bit her lip.  She shouldn't have said that.

Andor frowned, his eyes darkening.  "What makes you so sure of that?" he asked suspiciously.  Then his face softened.  "You're not yourself, love.  You've had a hard night.  Perhaps you should go lie down."

"No…" Rinoa protested, desperately wracking her brains for a plan to save Squall's life.  She couldn't think of a plea that would convince Andor.  Perhaps a more reasonable man, but not Andor.  "I must know what's going to happen with S… him…"

The king sank onto the sofa by Rinoa.   He took her hands in his, rubbing his calloused thumbs along the smooth skin of her hands.  Rinoa kept her gaze downcast, not wanting to look into his eyes, scared he'd be able to read the truth in her eyes.  "You won't see him again.  He may already be dead."  He was trying to reassure her, Rinoa thought with shock.  But he couldn't pick a worse way.  Rinoa closed here eyes, tears trickling down her cheeks.  She was losing Squall again…

"Don't cry," Andor said awkwardly.  "You asked them to save you, remember?"

Rinoa's eyes snapped open.  She hadn't known she'd said that aloud.  _Hyne__…  what__ if that's why Andor ordered Squall to be executed!  What if he suspects!  Oh, Squall!  She pulled away from Andor.  She had to help Squall…  But how?  Andor had brought her back to his palace; Squall was so far away…  "You're right," she said dully.  "I… I think I need to go to bed."  She pushed herself to her feet, almost staggering because her knees felt weak.  She stumbled towards the bedroom door, relieved when she didn't hear her husband follow.  She needed to be alone.  She had to think of a way to save Squall, and she couldn't do it with Andor hanging on to her as if he'd never see her – or rather, his heir – again._

_Hyne__, let me find a way… she prayed.  If only she had magic to help her._

*    *    *

Squall could barely hear the interrogator's questions over the throbbing in his head.  He hadn't thought anything would make the pain worse until he was forced into the hard, narrow seat under a bare bulb that glared right in his eye.  He found himself wishing the grenade had blinded him after all.

"Who do you work for?" Squall heard dimly.  The voice was tinged with irritation, as if the speaker had already asked it several times, and was exasperated by his lack of response.  Squall didn't think he could respond, even if he'd wanted to.  His throat was dry, and he longed for a glass of water.  But he didn't bother asking for what he knew he wouldn't receive.

Finally, his interrogator growled, "Things will go much better for you if you cooperate."  

_Oh? _ Squall wanted to ask.  _Would my death be quicker?_  No matter what he said in his defense, he'd be dead anyway.  At least if he stayed quiet, he couldn't say anything that could harm Rinoa.

Squall shifted uncomfortably as the man continued his tirade of questions, alternating between sounding reasonable, angry, and pleading.  He'd heard it all before, having viewed SeeD interrogations.  They were all the same, even across oceans.  Soon the man would grow frustrated with him for real and he'd be ordered back to his cell, where he'd have peace and quiet with his thoughts before his execution.

But that was not to be.  The interrogator had begun to bully him when a calm voice interrupted, "So this is where you've taken him.  Tell me, major, is it really necessary to bully an injured man?"

Squall's interrogator, the major, turned to face the man standing behind him.  Curious, Squall lifted his head to see the man also, and gave a start.

At first glance, the man bore a striking resemblance to Laguna.  He had the same long, unkempt black hair, the same green eyes… even the shape of his face was familiar.  But his features were harder, his eyes cold.  Even his voice had an edge to it, as polite as the question to the major had been.

"General Lysander!  I didn't know you were still here…"  The major caught himself.  "This is the man who attacked the queen."

"Attacked?" the general said scornfully.  "Tell me, major, who the hell would use an assassin in such woeful condition?"  The major made a noise, as if to answer, but Lysander went on.  "From what Corporal Madeen told me, this man wasn't even armed.  And Melusine came to me, furious that one of her patients could be treated so cruelly when he was too weak to even protect himself from the bodyguards!"  Lysander's tone turned bitter.  "He probably leapt onto the stage because he believed Andor's shit about his queen being some sort of miracle who should be worshipped.  He probably believed she could heal him, if he could only draw attention to himself!"

Squall watched Lysander under the fringe of his bangs.  Why was this man carelessly tossing out excuses within Squall's hearing?  Surely he must know that Squall could use one of them?  And who did this man think he was to have the audacity to deride the king's speech?  This man intrigued him.

Lysander turned his attention to Squall, who didn't flinch under the man's stern gaze.  "Get up, boy.  Melusine will have my hide if I don't return you in one piece."  Squall obeyed immediately, though his body ached at the sudden movement and he staggered.

The general waited patiently, waiting until the door of the interrogation room had shut behind them before asking, "Can you make it back to the hospital?"

Squall nodded, grimacing as the movement sent a stab of pain into his skull.  Lysander watched him struggle to walk straight, then sighed.  "I'll escort you back before heading home," the general said wearily.  Squall was about to protest, but his wobbly legs nearly gave out, and he had to cling to the general.  _Hyne__, this guy saves my life and I fall all over him…  Why had he saved Squall, anyway?  He wanted to ask, but he didn't want to press his luck._

Lysander led him over to a military truck and helped Squall in before climbing into the driver's seat.  But instead of starting up the vehicle, he studied Squall carefully.  Squall did the same.  On closer examination, Lysander's resemblance to Laguna was superficial.  He was younger, and much more confident.  He spoke with an accent different from that of what Squall's fellow soldiers did, and he had an informal way of speaking that implied a lack of military discipline.  Yet Squall had heard of Lysander; while King Kielan was the one directing the war, it was Lysander's brains that turned what could have been a tyrant's hasty plans into successful coups.  He was one of the few men that Squall felt he could respect… if only he didn't work for the man who had Rinoa.

"Where are you from?" the general asked suddenly, his eyes narrowed.

Squall couldn't lie under that penetrating gaze.  "Balamb.  Sir," Squall added quickly.  He hoped the general didn't pry further.

"Ah.  Never heard of it.  Not a local, then.  Forced into service, were you?"  

_Another interrogation,_ Squall realized.  But at least Lysander sounded indifferent, rather than cruel.  And it was blissfully dark; his eye had taken far too much strain today.  "Yes," Squall said reluctantly.

Lysander nodded, as though he hadn't expected otherwise.  He started up the vehicle and smoothly pulled away from the building serving as the occupied town's command center.  "You know her, don't you?" he asked after a moment.

Squall stiffened.  He couldn't answer this…  he'd endanger both himself and Rinoa!  But Lysander was giving Squall that keen look again when he wasn't watching the road, and Squall knew he couldn't hide anything; the general seemed to be able to read him like a book.  

"I thought so," the general said, without waiting for an answer.  "I was there; I saw the look on your face.  If Andor knew, he'd kill you, you know that?  Not an execution, like you almost faced, but he'd send you to the front lines, on a suicide mission.  Forget the queen, boy."

_I can't…  _But that wasn't the answer the general was after, so Squall stayed quiet.  Instead, he finally managed, "Why did you save me?"

Lysander shrugged.  "As a favor to Melusine.  She was quite worried about you, you know."

Melusine must have been the medic who'd worked with him.  He felt guilty he'd never bothered to learn her name.  But that wasn't the real reason Lysander had saved him, he knew.  But he got the feeling he'd never hear it from the general.

"Don't do anything to draw attention to yourself. Just be a good little soldier, and Andor will forget all about you.  If you live through Andor's little war, you may get to go home again."  The general's tone was wry as he added, "Though it won't be how you remember it."

_He wants me to fight a war I don't believe in for a king I don't serve.  But he's trying to keep me alive, and for that, I'm grateful.  _Squall didn't reply, and the general didn't seem to expect one.

They pulled up by the hospital, and Lysander handed Squall a small packet.  "These are your personal effects," he said.  "Remember, don't do anything stupid.  You'll be in enough trouble already with your CO."  The general glanced at the clock and scowled.  "It's later than I thought.  Andor's going to be wondering why I'm not at the palace yet."  The truck pulled away, leaving Squall alone.  He stumbled past the corporal guarding the door and was guided back to his room by a medic he encountered in the hall.

He collapsed onto his bed, exhausted.  But not so tired that he didn't break the seal on the packet to see just what his interrogators had taken from him while he'd been unconscious.  It wasn't much; just some change, his dog tags…  and a slim silver chain adorned with two rings.  Rinoa's necklace…  Squall held it to his face and breathed deeply, imagining he could smell her perfume.  _I'll never forget you, _he swore fiercely.  _Never.___

*    *    *

He was going to kill her…  No, that wasn't true.  As long as she carried his heir within her, Rinoa was safe from death.  No, Andor would probably find other ways to make her life a living hell.  But she had to save Squall.

She crept down the silent hall towards the communications room, hoping she wouldn't be interrupted.  Usually, the room was manned, but this late at night, usually a lower ranked servant handled the job.  Someone who could be easily intimidated into forgetting she'd ever come down here.

As she'd expected, the young servant became flustered upon meeting up with the queen, and eagerly showed her how she could reach the military stationed at Milstone, the town where Squall was currently being held.  She then shooed the servant from the room, after making him give his word that he wouldn't breathe a word of her nightly visit to anyone.

Her hands trembling, Rinoa dialed the number.  She had  no idea if this would work; was it common knowledge that she was more of a prisoner than Andor's wife?  Whoever answered could report her right to Andor, and then she'd be in trouble.  Perhaps he wouldn't let her leave the palace until the baby was born – and then he could arrange a little accident for her.  Her voice was high with fear when a woman picked up at the other end.  Rinoa collected herself, and calmly stated that she wanted to speak to the person in charge.

The major who answered listened to her demand to release Squall, then cut her off before she could go into hysterics and ruin her plan.  This man had to believe this was what Andor wanted, and Rinoa just hoped he wouldn't wonder why the orders were coming through his queen.

But it was a moot point, anyway.  After a moment of silence, the major said, "That prisoner has already been taken care of."  He said more, but Rinoa heard nothing after that.

Squall was dead.  _Dead.__  And this time, he wouldn't be coming back.  Rinoa hung up without another word, then went up to her room and wept._

*    *    *

Squall waited patiently the next morning for Captain Lynna Morz to acknowledge him.  She'd called him into her office almost five minutes ago, and had spent those minutes studiously ignoring him.  Finally, after reading through one last paper, she lifted her head to meet his eyes.

"So you're the one all the fuss was about last night."  Her blue eyes, set in a face that would never be called beautiful, examined him with a gaze uncannily like Lysander's the previous night.  Squall refused to show any discomfort, and after a moment, she nodded.  "I don't have much on record about you, but you don't look insane, anyway."  

That was promising.  "I wasn't thinking clearly; I only wanted to thank her for helping me survive this."  Squall ran his fingers over the bandages that still masked his healing face.  He was rather surprised she thought he looked sane, really; he was still wrapped in bandages, and the uniform he wore, the one in the best shape, was dirty and torn.  He knew he looked awful.

"Good," she said, lips quirking into a half smile.  "I'd hate to have to explain to General Lysander and his majesty the king why one of _my _men was breaking in to the palace to see the queen because of a little obsession."  Her eyes narrowed.  "You aren't planning to break in to the palace."  It was more of a statement than a question, and Squall shook his head, though the thought had crossed his mind.

"So you aren't stupid, either," she said, seemingly amused by him.  "All the best officers live at the palace; you'd never have gotten very far, anyway.  Now, I can forgive your conduct since you were injured," she continued, and went on in that vein, but something she'd said had caught Squall's attention; something that made him tune her out as the wheels in his head began to turn.  

_All the best officers live at the palace.  _Rinoa lived at the palace, too.  And Squall was no military fool; hadn't he led SeeD to victory and saved the world?  He was only stuck in his current lowly rank because he'd had no reason to advance.  He hadn't cared, since death would come quicker in the lowest ranks.  But now… If he could get in to the palace, he could see Rinoa again!  It wouldn't be soon…  It could take years, Squall was forced to admit to himself.  But it could be his only chance, especially if his little stunt had made the king nervous.

"Private Leonhart?  Are you listening to me?"  The captain's voice held a warning tone to it, and Squall looked up guiltily.  A good soldier didn't antagonize his superior.

"I'm sorry, ma'am," he said, putting as much pain into his voice as he could muster.  It was easy, considering how much his body still hurt.  "It's the injuries…  I still get dizzy spells and can't really concentrate."  That wasn't quite a lie, either.

"Go back to your bed, Private.  I don't want to see you again until you're well enough to think clearly.  I don't need an idiot under my command."

Squall got up at the clear dismissal, relieved that the captain didn't seem inclined to court martial him, as he'd half feared, or put him on some demeaning duty for the rest of his career in King Kielan's army.  She'd only wanted to see if he was stable.  Oh, she'd probably had access to all of Melusine's reports, and she'd likely have him closely watched for awhile, but at least she'd seen for herself he wasn't some raving lunatic who wanted to get his dirty hands all over the queen.  Now, he just had to prove he wasn't an assassin, either, which he'd do with his soon-to-be exemplary service.  He was going to have to do something he wouldn't like:  Fight for a cause he didn't believe in for a man he hated against millions of innocent people who didn't want to be under Kielan's rule.  And he was going to give it his all.

He was going to help countries fall.  An empire would be born from blood he helped shed.  All for love of a woman.

To be continued…


	5. Ghost Transmission

Disclaimer:  All FFVIII characters and situations belong to Square.  No profit is being made from their use.

Author's Note:  The first four chapters laid the groundwork for the story, and this chapter is going to clarify some things some of you may have had questions about.  Then the real challenge will begin…  I've also learned why it's a _good _thing to reread what you've written when writing about something that already happened.  The crash of the Ragnarok almost had a very different cause than mentioned in chapter one.  Once again, I'm sorry that this is short, and that chapters are few and far in between.  I'm struggling to finish an epic fic I've been working on for two years, an the fact that final exams are just around the corner is no help with my time.  I can't wait until winter break…

AGAINST THE ODDS

Chapter Five

Ghost Transmission

The map spread out on the wall revealed a world several times larger than his homeland.  Squall reached up, his fingers brushing the dark circle representing the capitol city of Zophyr.  _Rinoa__…  I know you're there.  I'll be there, someday.  Wait for me.  It would be a long road, spanning both distance and time.  She was half a continent away, and it could take years before Squall could work his way into King Kielan's favor._

He rubbed his face, where the still-unfamiliar eye patch rubbed his skin.  Distractedly, he wondered if Rinoa would even recognize him.  Half his face was the pale, smooth white of scarred flesh, which would never heal to match the rest of his face.  And then he had changed on the inside, as well.  Would she like what he'd become?  

Squall backed up so he could get a better view of the map.  He had to gather intelligence; he was a SeeD, and his training demanded that he know everything he could about his situation before formulating a plan and putting it into action.  As a stranger to this land, his knowledge was woefully lacking.  He knew that King Andor Kielan was a self-made ruler, that he'd been a councilman in the city of Zophyr before grabbing power for himself and declaring himself king.  Zophyr was capital of Altair, the largest of the eight countries of the Balharra continent.  Of the other countries, one had formed an alliance with Kielan, while the smallest had been cowed into submission by its much larger neighbor.  Together, these three countries had amassed an enormous army and already, another country had fallen to Kielan's rule.

This was all very enlightening, but it didn't make Squall feel better about the whole thing.  He may have been a mercenary, a soldier who sold his services for money, but SeeD had had standards.  They'd never assist in world conquest.  _Hyne__, Squall thought, shutting his eye and leaning his face into his palm.  __How did I get into this?_

He opened his eye again, though he no longer saw the tent around him.  He was in Esthar, where it had all started, ironically, with a map very similar to the one that hung before him…

*    *    *

"Do you think that's it?"  Rinoa's voice interrupted Squall's thoughtful scrutiny of the map before him.  "Is that where it came from?"

Squall cocked his head so he could see her when she came up beside him.  "I have no idea…  No one's heard anything from the Eastern Continent for centuries.  I didn't know maps of it still existed."  The Esthar archives had a great many things Squall had never seen before, but it was the map that he'd come for today.

"And no one's thought to check to see if anyone lived there?" Rinoa's voice was incredulous.  "Did they think the whole continent had just vanished, or something?"

Squall shrugged.  "You've never heard of it before, have you?  Neither did I," he said when she shook her head.  "Who's going to look for something they don't even know exists?  And then, apparently, there are some currents here," Squall ran his fingers over a stretch of open ocean, "that are impassible, both by ship and by air.  It has the same strange effect on instruments as that blasted plain outside Esthar."

"So maybe what we heard was a ghost," she said, speaking in a whisper.  She blew gently on the back of his neck, sending shivers down his spine.  Squall snorted, and she laughed.  "Okay, so no ghosts."

"That would make things easier," Squall said quietly.  "Rinoa, if there are other people on that continent, then our world is going to go through drastic changes.  Figures this would all wait until I'm in charge."  He sighed, as he felt another heavy burden on his shoulders.  And he'd only just gotten rid of the last problem!  

"Don't be so pessimistic," Rinoa said, squeezing his shoulder lightly.  "Maybe things will work out for the better."

"Right.  Better."  This would never have happened if the seal on Adel's tomb had never been broken.  For seventeen years, the communications systems had been down in every town, city, and Garden.  The creators never thought that the effect of the tomb would be planetwide; or rather, they'd never considered that there were other lands besides their own that would be affected.  

But two weeks ago, the systems had begun to come back online.  And three days ago, they'd received a shocking transmission from a woman claiming to be from a city called Zophyr.  It seemed she'd been running an annual systems check on their com system, and had been stunned to find an open channel.  The Esthar operator who'd received the call had spoken to her for several moments, and she'd been polite, until he'd told her where he was from, and she'd promptly switched off.  

When no one could locate any such town or city, no one was worried.  The 'ghost transmission,' as it had been dubbed, was merely a curiosity, an unusual enigma that wasn't worth getting concerned about.  Probably a prank, or a misunderstanding, they thought.  Until a bored technician tried to trace the call, and found that its pathway bounced off one of the old satellites at an angle impossible for anything from this continent.  Laguna had mentioned it in passing to Squall, whose curiosity had been piqued.  Anything that could get him away from the pile of paperwork on his desk, the new bane of his existence, was worth investigating.

"Is there a Zophyr?" Rinoa asked, her gaze sliding over the map.

"Not that I've found.  But it's an old map, and Zophyr may be a new city."  Squall shrugged there's no way of knowing."

He was aware of her intense scrutiny, and turned to meet her eyes.  "What?"

"Ten gil for your thoughts?" she offered.  When he didn't respond, she continued.  "You're thinking of going there, aren't you?"

"Organizing an expedition into an unknown land is a massive effort," Squall said.  "We'd have to select a diplomatic team, and we'd have to make damned sure we don't land somewhere that would frighten the locals or offend a local custom and accidentally start a new war…"

Rinoa's gaze still hadn't left his face.  "But you're not thinking of an organized expedition.  You want to sneak over there and do it yourself, don't you?"

Had he really become that easy to read?  Or did Rinoa just know him too well?  "The Ragnarok could make the trip in an hour.  It could land in a sparsely populated area, a quick recon could be done…  I'd be in and out before anyone would know I was there."

"It would be risky.  Not something that a commander should do," Rinoa chided, but her eyes gleamed at the prospect of adventure.

"I risk death every day when I deal with paperwork.  Do you realize that if the pile tipped over, I could be crushed beneath it?" Squall's voice was serious, but he could feel a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Poor baby," she scoffed.  "So when do we go?"

"Rinoa, I never said I was going…" he protested.  But he'd been seriously considering it.  He was bored, and he needed some action.  He wasn't meant for peacetime, it seemed.  "And besides, who said you were going?  You don't do reconnaissance work."

"No, but I am a sorceress, and I'd like to put those powers to use.  Practicing spells on Grats and T-rexaurs just isn't satisfying."  Rinoa's gaze was hopeful.  "Besides, I'm bored, too.  And you said that we'd be out before they knew we were there, right?" she reminded him.

Squall caved.  "All right.  We'll both go.  And Zell, since neither of us can pilot the Ragnarok and he's the only one currently in Esthar.  But we can't tell the others; if we let them know, they'll all want to come, and we'll have to wait.  I want this to be quick, not some big SeeD mission.  Besides," and here he smiled wickedly, "they need to be reminded that their old commander can still do things without their help."  

"So, when do we go?" Rinoa asked again.

"Let me tell Laguna, so at least someone knows where we'll be, then we can be off, if Zell's willing."

*    *    *

Zell was more than willing.  It seemed boredom was an affliction that plagued all the SeeDs.  He was ecstatic to be included in a secret mission that the others were going to be jealous about, and he was ready to go as soon as Laguna had been told.  The president hadn't wanted them to go, arguing that they should wait, but he hadn't been able to come up with a good reason for them not to go.  He could only beg them to be careful.

The flight had been pleasant, though Squall had been impatient to reach their destination.  His sense of adventure had been piqued, and he was eager for exploration.  It had been too long, it seemed, since he'd done anything like this.  The office had become his life in the past few months, and he was afraid of becoming like Headmaster Cid – stuffy, and old, and only good for dealing with the stuffy politicians who hired SeeD.  

It was Rinoa who'd felt it first; perhaps, as a sorceress, she was more sensitive than the others, or perhaps Squall and Zell had been to eager to notice until Rinoa said softly, "Squall, do you feel that?"

Squall turned towards her, frowning.  "Feel what?"  Was she having second thoughts about coming with them?

"That… empty feeling…  I can't describe it," she whispered.

Now that she mentioned it, Squall did feel odd somehow.  Excitement, maybe?  He didn't have time to explore the sensation further, however, for Zell suddenly cried out, "I see land!"

Squall raised his head to see out the viewport, and even Rinoa was distracted from whatever had alarmed her.  The coastline grew until it filled their view, becoming a sandy beach leading off into a thick, dark forest.  "Make for that," Squall pointed towards the woods.  "There shouldn't be anyone in the woods, and there may be a clearing we can land in.

And that was when everything went wrong.  The ship suddenly shuddered, and Zell struggled with the controls for a moment to steady the ship.  Squall thought they'd just hit a bit of turbulence, until Zell cried out in shock.  Squall didn't know much about the gauges arrayed along the control panel, but he was certain they weren't supposed to be whirling in a rapid circle.  The scanner flickered, showing an inverted image of the landscape before them before shutting down.

Along with the rest of the Ragnarok's systems.

The engines abruptly went dead, leaving them in a peculiar silence interrupted only by the rush of wind against the hull.  _"And then, apparently, there are some currents here," Squall ran his fingers over a stretch of open ocean, "that are impassible, both by ship and by air.  It has the same strange effect on instruments as that blasted plain outside Esthar."  His words from hours earlier came back to haunt him.  They'd clearly found one such impassible stretch.  But there was nothing they could do about that now._

"We're going down!" Zell cried.  

What followed was a confusion of color: the flawless blue of the sky, replaced by a dark green as the Ragnarok spun on its axis and they were upside down over the forest.  The clear canopy scraped the trees, then the glass shattered. Squall glimpsed a rain of glittering fragments coming at Zell… saw dark rivulets of blood torn in his friend's flesh… heard Rinoa's screams mix with Zell's as a large fragment grazed her temple…  Then Squall felt something give, and realized his seat belt had come loose… and then he was falling… falling…  tree limbs lashed at him, tearing cloth and skin, bruising flesh and breaking bone.  The last thing he saw, before darkness obscured his vision, was the prow of the Ragnarok catching in the trees and flipping with a scream of rending metal… and then… nothing…

*    *    *

His life had become hell after that moment.  So many times, he'd wished he could have died.  So many times, death had eluded him.  He'd begun to fear that he'd cheated death in the crash, and as a punishment, death no longer wanted him.  

But now…  A battle-scarred, embittered Squall gazed at the map that was so like the one that had started it all.  He wanted to pull down the map, to shred it and stamp it beneath his steel-toed boots…  But he had to be the ideal soldier.  He would do nothing to ruin his climb to the top.  Nothing would keep her from Rinoa.

"Private."  Squall didn't start at the commanding voice, instead turning smoothly and flowing into the 'attention' stance, hand snapping into a salute.  Captain Morz nodded approvingly.  "At ease," she said, and Squall obeyed.  "What are you doing in here?" she asked in a clipped tone.  "Few grunts come in here of their own free will."

"I'm a foreigner," he said calmly.  He couldn't deny it; it said as much in his file, and his accent gave it away.  He didn't need to tell her just _how foreign he was, however.  "I don't know much about this part of the world."_

Morz arched her brow.  "Willingness to learn.  I don't encounter that too often in my men."  Was that approval he heard in her voice?  Squall didn't respond to the comment, recognizing it as bait.  Sound too egotistical, and she'd be disgusted and punish him.  Try to act modest, and she still might punish him.  Military mind games were the same everywhere.

She "hmphed," then jerked her chin towards the tent flap.  "We march tomorrow.  I suggest you get packing, Private."

Squall saluted again and left.  He'd unintentionally caught the eye of his CO, and managed to impress her in the process.  Now he just had to distinguish himself in battle.  And if they were marching tomorrow, he'd have his chance very soon.

_I'm coming for you Rinoa.  Wait for me.  Please, be safe.  We'll be together again.  I swear it._

To Be Continued…


	6. Anything to Survive

Disclaimer:  I do not own any of the FFVIII characters involved with this fic.  I know that.  You know that.  

Author's Note:  Ever have that problem where you just can't write anything?  For the past months, I haven't even touched my laptop computer, because inspiration just hasn't struck.  Everything I wrote was crap, and I'd rather not upload anything than put up something that was no good.  So, I'm sorry this took so long.  This chapter drags a bit, I know, but I was experimenting.  I've never really played around with the workings of a monarchy before, so this is all kinda new to me.  I was also trying to get a little more plot besides Squall/Rinoa angsting over each other.  Plus, I gotta get this fic _moving, _somehow.  Bear with me.  Also, I'm going to attempt to update this fic biweekly, if I can, but don't hold it against me if I can't keep up the schedule.

AGAINST THE ODDS

Chapter Six

Anything to Survive

Another conquest meant another banquet.  Another banquet meant more exposure to Andor's fawning nobles, more time holding in place the serene mask of a queen who loved and supported her husband.  When the banquets had been once a month, Rinoa had been able to play her expected role with ease.  But with Andor's army sweeping across Belharra, these functions became more frequent.  And, despite Rinoa's growing discomfort, Andor insisted she attend them, so that all could see that he would soon have an heir, thus securing his legacy.

Rinoa grimaced as her maids dressed her in yet another new gown, cautious of the prominent bulge of her belly and the sharp temperament that came with it.  _Just three more months, _she told herself.  _Then… then I'll be mother to that man's heir._

A mother.  She wasn't certain how she felt about that yet, even after so long.  It was the child of the man who had given her little choice but to marry him; yet, it was her child as well.  With it, she wouldn't be alone in this place anymore… assuming Andor let her raise it rather than pass it off to a nurse so Rinoa could continue in her role as pretty-but-useless accessory.  

"All done, your majesty."  Pia, the most timid of her maids since Rinoa had slapped the woman, stepped away so Rinoa could examine herself in the mirror.

The gown was a simple, pale blue piece, its only concession to elegance being an elaborate pattern embroidered in silver along the sleeves, neckline, and hem.  The cloth was loose enough to keep from constricting her, and Rinoa nodded in approval of the dress.  One good thing about being pregnant; she didn't have to wear those uncomfortable creations Andor insisted that royalty should wear on formal occasions.

As the maids fussed over her  hair, Rinoa heard the double doors of her bedroom swing open.  She didn't bother to turn, knowing the movement would spoil the maids attempts to style her hair.  She didn't need to look, anyway; only Andor would enter the room unannounced.  

"You look lovely," Andor said, standing beside her so both were reflected in the mirror.  Rinoa examined Andor with carefully concealed curiosity.  With every banquet, his dress style changed, being subdued and casual one week to becoming flamboyant the next.  _If I were a historian, I'd be delighted, _Rinoa mused.  Here she was, at the beginning of a monarchy, and the king was still at a loss as to how royalty should dress.  It was he who had to start these traditions, traditions that would last as long as his legacy continued.

This week, he'd chosen an outfit of the same cut as the military uniforms, but made of a finer cloth and colored a dark blue to complement her own dress.

He examined her critically for a few moments, then barked an order for the maids to cover the scar on her temple more completely.  The maids hastened to comply, only leaving when Andor waved them off.  "Better," he said shortly.  "Now, let's be off."  He laced his arm through hers, tugging her with more force than was necessary towards the doors.

It was difficult to keep up with Andor's stride, but it was too much for her to expect him to show any sympathy for her condition and slow to match his steps to hers.

They arrived fashionably late to the hall where the banquet was being held and, as if suddenly being switched off, all voices in the hall fell silent as Andor led Rinoa up a ramp to their table, raised above the level of the other tables in the room.  As they took their seats, their guests hurried to take their own places.

As a flurry of servants descended upon the tables, carrying pitchers of wine and trays of delicate appetizers, Rinoa examined the guests.  _Nobles, _she reminded herself.  Many of those seated below her had once been elected politicians expecting to hold their offices for as long as the terms allotted, but for those men and women who were competent at their jobs, Andor had awarded them titles that couldn't be taken from them, promising a permanent place for the officials.  It had gone a long way towards securing the loyalty of the officials.

It was amusing to note that the newly made nobles were as clueless as Andor about how to dress.  Many had imitated their king's previous outfits, others wore the conservative dress their positions demanded.  In all, it wasn't quite like the elegant royal courts Rinoa had pretended to be part of as a child – but it was getting closer to it.

_And I would gladly exchange it for a normal dinner at Garden, food fights and all._  Rinoa sighed and sipped lightly at her glass of water, then nibbled at one of the appetizers.  _Hyne__, I'm bored._  She entertained the notion of throwing one of the appetizers at a pompous man boasting to his companion seated at the table just below her, but she shuddered to think what Andor would do to her.  Pregnant or not, he'd find a way to make her suffer if she made him look like a fool.

To occupy herself, she turned her attention to those seated at the high table, wondering who had won Andor's favor this week.  General Lysander was there, of course, in the stiff formal uniform he seemed to save just for these banquets.  He looked as bored as she felt.  Beside him was a man Rinoa was vaguely familiar with, a duke… an earl?  She couldn't keep those damned ranks straight.

It was the man seated to Andor's right that caught her attention.  She'd never seen him before, but there was something about him that bothered her.  Perhaps it was the fact that he seemed to be ignoring Andor's presence and was focusing solely on _her_.

Rinoa gave him the sweet, vacant smile she'd cultured to impress her father's friends that she now used because Andor favored it.  _I'm sweet, I'm pretty, and I'm dumb, _was what the smile relayed.  _I'm just an accessory; don't bother trying to sweet talk me.  _The smile made her feel ill.

The man's intense gaze was unreadable.  Then, he abruptly flashed a smile as false as Rinoa's own and turned his attention to the king.  _Who is he?  _He had to be important; for him to be seated at Andor's side, he'd done something to win Andor's favor.

_The Telhos ambassador… that must be him, _she realized as she suddenly recalled a fragment of conversation she'd caught earlier.  Telhos had recently expressed an interest in cooperating with Andor, and she'd heard they were sending someone.  This dinner must have been for his benefit, to give him a chance to suck up to Andor.

But, if he were trying to impress the king, why did he keep looking at her with that calculating gaze?

*    *    *

Squall paced restlessly; there was a tension in the air, like the calm before the storm, and he knew he wouldn't be getting to sleep any time soon.  He'd only just come off patrol duty on the streets of Telhos-ka, capital city of the land-locked country of Telhos.  There was a mood to the city he didn't like, though he couldn't put his finger on what was wrong.  He knew he wasn't the only one to feel it, however.  Captain Morz had doubled the patrols without explanation.

As if he didn't have enough on his mind…  The previous day, the captain had called him into her office to speak to him in private.  Since he'd done nothing to draw her attention to him, he'd been wary of being in her presence.  

Her first words had put him at ease.  "Congratulations," she'd said, smiling wanly.  "You've passed your probation period without having another 'episode.' It would seem your… enthusiasm in thanking the queen was indeed just because of your injuries.  In fact, you've proven to be an exemplary soldier."

Squall hadn't been able to contain his sigh of relief.  He'd known he was being watched, and he'd been careful.  Now that this was behind him, he could move forward with his plans for advancement.

"Which brings me to the other reason I wanted to speak to you," Morz had said.  "As I said, you are an excellent soldier – but, I'm afraid I don't know what to do with you."

Squall had snapped his head up, suddenly alarmed.  He hadn't liked the tone in her voice.  "The problem is, you're known to the king, now, and not in a good way.  He assumes you are dead; General Lysander hasn't told him otherwise, and, while I don't necessarily agree with the general's decision to save you despite the king's orders, I'm not going to say anything to get the general in trouble.  The problem is, you're too good a soldier to waste as common fighter, but if you attract too much attention to yourself, King Kielan may remember your name and know you as the man who assaulted his wife.  If he finds out General Lysander countered his orders – and that I knew about it and said nothing – we would all be in serious trouble."  

"What are you saying, Captain?" Squall's mouth had gone dry, and he'd felt panic rise within him.

"I'm saying that it may be best if you change your identity before you draw too much attention to yourself," Morz said at last.  "You must admit that 'Squall Leonhart' is much too distinctive a name; even with thousands of soldiers at his command, his majesty will surely remember your name."   The captain had smiled sympathetically.  "I know it's not an easy decision to make.  You could just remain as you are now, and likely die an inglorious death as an unknown soldier, or you could keep your name and advance, and hope his majesty doesn't recall you.  The choice is yours."

_Change my name… It's such a simple thing, really, but…  Squall Leonhart is who I am.  _A part of him had taken pleasure in thinking about Rinoa hearing of his great deeds and knowing he was coming for her…  But what if Morz was right, and Kielan recognized his name?  He knew he'd have no trouble with Kielan identifying him by appearance; the man had only seen him once, when his head had been swathed with bandages, and Squall no longer looked quite like he did in his file photos, taken before his injury.  But his name…  _What's in a name?  It's just the label by which other people call me.  But it's the label my mother gave me… _

He'd told Morz that he'd think about it, and she'd seemed satisfied with his answer.  Really, he had no choice, and he knew it.  Not if he wanted to get close to Rinoa, anyway.  But he wanted time to get used to the idea before he really consented to it.

Squall sighed and paused in his pacing.  Maybe he should just go back to his bunk and try to get some sleep.  Maybe this would be easier in the morning.  He hesitated by the path that led to their barracks, then continued on past.  The barracks made him uncomfortable, anyway.  The Telhosian government had given Kielan's soldiers the barracks belonging to their own men as a show of their cooperation.

_Maybe everyone's just so tense because these people are _too _friendly.  After fighting this war for nearly a year, could it be that we just can't trust anyone anymore?  _Maybe that was why he hadn't even stopped at his room long enough to drop off his gun.

Squall nodded at a couple of soldiers that passed him by, absently noting that they, too, still carried weapons.   When he thought about it later, though, it made him uneasy.  _Something _was definitely wrong…

*    *    *

There was mingling, of course, after the meal.  Andor had left to go speak with Lysander, leaving her to smile and reassure any guests that asked that Andor would return in a few moments.  She hoped he would hurry; she tired easily now, and he'd said she'd be free to return to her room once he returned. 

Than Andor could show any sympathy for her condition surprised her.  But she knew it wasn't a change in Andor towards her; he cared only for the child she carried.  

At least it was something.  Her last hope of being free and loved had died with Squall.  Maybe if she stuck by Andor's side and did all he asked of her without complaint, he'd soften his attitude towards her, see her as more than a pretty object to be possessed.  She didn't want his love, but affection of some sort would be nice.

Anything to make her miserable existence more tolerable…

"Is something wrong, your highness?"

The soft voice startled her, and she quickly composed herself. She turned to face the Telhos ambassador, who had come up beside her while she'd been distracted.  She was immediately wary; there was something about the anxious flicker of his eyes towards the bodyguards positioned a short distance away.  She was safe enough with them around, but Rinoa was under no illusion that they could protect her from everything.  "Nothing's wrong," Rinoa said, her voice betraying none of her nervousness.

"You were crying," the man said, keeping his voice low.  

Rinoa put her hand up to her cheek, and felt the wet track where a tear had escaped, unnoticed.  _Damn…  _"It's the hormones," she said, patting her stomach.  "I get upset over the stupidest things."  

"Ah," was all the man said for a moment.  He glanced around again, then said, "I don't believe we've been introduced."  He offered his hand, which Rinoa graciously accepted.  There would be no harm in a handshake, right?  "I am Taver Biskani, ambassador of Telhos.  I am here to negotiate an alliance between our two nations."

He slowly withdrew his hand from hers.  Rinoa stared at him in puzzlement as she closed her fingers around the slip of paper he'd pressed into her palm when they'd shook.  "Uh…  I'm sure Andor will benefit from your country's support," Rinoa said automatically.  The ambassador smiled and turned away, leaving her to speak with Andor, who had finally put in an appearance.  Seeing her husband, Rinoa turned and left the hall, her bodyguards following at a discrete distance.

Only when she reached the privacy of her room, in that brief moment before her maids realized she'd returned, Rinoa read the message printed on the slip of paper.  Her eyes widened as she read the message, and there was one phrase that caught her attention, that she read over and over again.

_How would you like to be free?_

*    *    *

Squall sipped at his steaming coffee, barely tasting the hot liquid as he read the newspaper he'd found discarded on a bench.  He'd given up on the idea of sleep and had decided he'd needed something to drink.  Unfortunately, it seemed Belharra had a law about being unable to drink alcohol because he was under twenty-one, so coffee had become his poison of choice.

The paper had caught his attention because it had a full-color picture of Rinoa on the front page.  Even with her rounded figure, she looked stunning, and Squall planned to clip the photo as a reminder of why he fought.

His hand lightly traced the curve of her belly.  He'd been upset when he'd found out she was pregnant.  Hell, he'd been furious.  She was _his _girl, after all.  She had no right to be having another man's baby!  

But common sense had cooled his temper.  Yes, she was the king's wife, and yes, she was having his child, but… but, she'd asked him to save her.  She'd run to him, a pleading look in her eyes, begging him to take her away from all of this.  He didn't know _how _she'd found herself in this situation, but he didn't think it was by choice.  She was doing everything she could to survive in a foreign place, as he himself was doing.  

Which was why he'd decided to do as Captain Morz had suggested.  He'd change his name, become someone new, someone who could survive in Andor's army.  

Squall set down his coffee cup and folded up the paper, stuffing it into the inner pocket of his uniform jacket.  He wondered if the captain was still up; he could go tell her now-

The sound of gunshots sent Squall reflexively rolling off his seat on the bench and to the ground, his own gun in his hand before he had time to think.  Two more shots followed, and Squall realized they'd come from some distance off to his left… near the barracks.  _I hope that's just a couple of drunk soldiers…_

He got to his feet and began to run towards the shots, hoping he could diffuse the situation.  But when more shots were fired, Squall was close enough to hear someone shouting orders, and he immediately went on the alert.  This wasn't an alcohol-induced incident.

They were under attack.

To Be Continued…


End file.
